The Real Thing

By B.G. Thomas

Bryan Mills has fantasized about cowboys all his life. Real cowboys, that is. He even dresses in what his roommate calls "cowboy drag" when he visits his favorite bar, in the hope of attracting the attentions of a genuine cowboy. But all he usually finds are posers and guys his own age.
Then one night, to his surprise, Curtis Hansen buys him a beer, and Bryan has no doubt this is the real thing. Curtis is a rugged, gorgeous man who is every bit a cowboy. He even owns his own ranch. What follows is about the most amazing night of Bryan's young life.
But can they move beyond a night of incredible sex when Bryan admits to Curtis that the only horse he's ever ridden was a birthday party pony? And that he's nothing but a poser himself? Maybe, just maybe, Curtis can find the real cowboy inside Bryan, and they can ride off into the sunset together!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781635333305

B.G. Thomas

B.G. Thomas lives in Kansas City with his two husbands—which yes, is different, but amazingly rewarding and wonderfully romantic. They have two sweet rescue dogs named Oliver (who the breed name Dorkie applies perfectly) and Frodo (who is just learning to be a dog). He is missing his soul dog Sarah Jane very much, but she will live on forever in several of his books and in his heart. He is also blessed to have a lovely daughter and they love to hang out. B.G. loves to read romance, comedy, fantasy, thrillers, mystery, science fiction, and even horror—as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to literature conventions his entire adult life, where he’s been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was a child; it’s where he finds his joy. In the nineties, he wrote for gay adult magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot, and edited his setups right out. “The sex is never as important as the characters,” he says. “Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them?” Excited about the growing male/male romance market—where setup and cute meets is where it’s at—he began writing again. He submitted a novella and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days. Since then the romantic tales have poured out of him. “It’s like I’m somehow making up for a lifetime’s worth of story-telling!” “Leap, and the net will appear” is his personal philosophy and his message. “It is never too late,” he testifies. “Pursue your dreams. They will come true!” You can read about whatever he’s working on right now or whatever he’s rambling on about at his website/blog at: bthomaswriter.wordpress.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/bgthomaswriter Twitter: twitter.com/BGThomasBooks He is always happy to hear from his readers!

Book preview

The Real Thing

By B.G. Thomas

Bryan has fantasized about cowboys all his life. He even dresses in what his roommate calls cowboy drag when he visits his favorite club, in the hope of attracting the attentions of a genuine cowboy. Then Curtis buys him a beer, and Bryan has no doubt this is the real thing. But can they move beyond a night of incredible sex once Bryan admits to Curtis that the only horse he’s ever ridden was a birthday party pony?

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For Kirk, for Michael, and of course, for Ike.

BRYAN MILLS stood in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet and posed. His bedroom was dark, save for a muted bedside table lamp, in an attempt to mimic the lighting of The Watering Hole, his favorite bar. He shifted from one foot to the other, practicing. He wanted to look just right, and he thought he’d finally managed it.

The shirt was perfect: not boring, not too bold. Slightly worn was the way the guy at the secondhand shop had described it (which sounded so much better than used). Bryan thought the jeans were a work of art. He’d spent days washing them, sandpapering the denim in all the right places, especially between the thighs, over the crotch, and across the ass. He wanted them to have that horse-ridden look. He turned and looked over his shoulder at his butt and thought, Yes, not bad at all.

I’d fuck it, he said aloud. If I was a top. He grinned.

Bryan spun back around on his heels and lowered his head so that the brim of his hat—a gray Stetson—all but hid his blue eyes, showing little more than his five-o’clock-shadowed jaw. Fetching, if he did say so himself.

He hooked his thumbs in his foremost belt loops, letting his fingers frame both his silver belt buckle—nice but not too over-the-top—and the mound of his crotch. No underwear. He was a grower, not a shower, and underwear mashed his cock and balls almost flat. Anyone who saw him only from the belt down might not even know he was male if he didn’t go commando. At least this way his package looked promising, even if it didn’t look huge.

And the boots? Perfect. Scuffed but not sloppy or overworn.

Hadn’t cowboy boots been the real start of this whole more authentic costume? His cowboy drag, as his roommate Tommy—the drag queen Dixie Wrecked—liked to say?

The first time Bryan had headed out to The Watering Hole trying to look like the real thing, he’d been proudly wearing a pair of five-hundred-dollar snakeskin cowboy boots. He’d no sooner walked in the door, Loretta Lynn crooning about a cabin on a hill in Butcher Holler from a jukebox, when he’d spotted a pair of men who’d made him hard in less than a minute.

They were hot, and both looked like the real thing to Bryan. One was at least forty for sure, and he guessed the other to be a well-preserved fifty, easily old enough to be his father. Hot enough to make his erection get wet. He moseyed his way over to them, wondering whether they were friends or lovers, trying to decide which man was hotter. Both had facial hair—one a thick mustache like Sam Elliott, the other a goatee. Both were darkly tanned, obviously men who worked outdoors, with deep lines carved around their eyes. Bryan couldn’t help but imagine them on horseback, squinting into the sun.

They were each drinking a pitcher of beer, apparently spurning a glass—

(Even a dirty one, Bryan thought, and grinned at his own joke)

—and both were smiling. And oh, how very pleased he was when he saw the pair were eyeing a small group of men his own age.

Score! They like younger men! And then he quietly edged closer to the stuff of his dreams, hoping to catch their eyes.

Only to discover that he’d totally misinterpreted why the cowboys were paying the young men any attention.

Is it Halloween? the older man had asked his companion.

Looks like it to me, the friend responded.

I didn’t know it was Halloween. Here I thought it was July.

Yup. Cowboy Two nodded. But I know it ain’t time for the rodeo.

Just look at that fucked-up shit they’re wearing, said Cowboy One, pointing with his chin. Makes ya wonder if they have ladies’ panties underneath.

Both men burst into laughter.

Can you imagine getting one of ’em into bed? Cowboy Two asked.

The older man grimaced. What do you bet they shave their assholes and spritz ’em with perfume besides?

They both laughed again.

Almost as if on cue, Loretta’s Coal Miner’s Daughter faded on the jukebox, and a faster song began. With a high-pitched yippee! the young